


My Reminder...

by JinxedAmbitions



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dancing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt learns the F word (friend), M/M, Sad Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23617030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: Geralt knew two things.  First, it had not been Jaskier’s finest performance.  The second being that the bard was upset by this disaster of a wedding.  Geralt couldn’t piece together why exactly, but the bard had been downright chipper that morning when he’d announced the job over watery oats from the inn they’d stayed in.Geralt sets out to remedy Jaskier's poor spirits with a gentle touch he's learned from the bard himself, and a knowledge of the little things that make Jaskier a happy man.  Geralt may not be able to change the tilt of the world itself, but he can remind Jaskier that there is still good to be found.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 398





	My Reminder...

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There is a passing mention of drowning (implying suicide) in the three paragraphs after Geralt tells Jaskier "You are not maudlin by nature, Jaskier. I don't know what to do with this stranger." Please skip it if you need to. It won't impact the plot if you do.

Geralt knew two things. First, it had not been Jaskier’s finest performance. For once that was in no way caused by Jaskier’s own indiscretions. The fact that the bride’s sister had had an affair with her betrothed and decided to proclaim it to the entire gathering had in no way been Jaskier’s fault. The ensuing fight had also not been Jaskier’s fault. There was simply no coming back from that, especially with Jaskier’s repertoire of off-color jigs and ballads about slaying monsters.

The second thing that Geralt knew was that the bard was upset by this disaster of a wedding. Geralt couldn’t piece together why exactly, but the bard had been downright chipper that morning when he’d announced the job over watery oats from the inn they’d stayed in. 

Now, Jaskier was moping. What really concerned Geralt was that it was a quiet mope. Jaskier had been sitting in the bath long enough that Geralt had had to use Igni twice already to warm it for fear that Jaskier would catch a chill.

He wasn’t even cleaning himself. He was simply sitting in the large basin and staring up at the ceiling like it held answers to some unfathomable question. 

“If you continue to sit there, I cannot use the water to wet this bloodstain in your doublet before it sets,” Geralt said, sitting on the cot and holding Jaskier's beautiful green doublet in his hands.

“What difference does it make, Geralt? Let the doublet rot, or better yet, forget that I am here and do as you will,” Jaskier said, throwing his arm over his eyes and blocking out the world and any of the answers the rafters may have held.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, getting off the cot and walking to the basin and dabbing the bloodstain with water.

Geralt had restitched and reinforced the seam that had torn in the scuffle, and he’d patched the hole the dagger had left as it came dangerously close to skewering Jaskier in the gut. 

Thankfully, Jaskier had begun to take his advice about wearing light mail beneath his doublet for his courtly performances. Geralt generally did a good job of deterring any stabbings, but Geralt preferred to be safe. Jaskier had put up a fuss until Geralt was able to purchase him a set that was lightweight and not bulky enough to fit beneath even his tightest doublets. 

So, while Jaskier’s doublet was torn and holey, Jaskier himself was only bruised physically and it would seem also spiritually. 

Geralt made sure that the blood on Jaskier’s doublet wouldn’t set and thus ruin his work of stitching it, and he hung it on the hook on the wall to dry. Then he returned to the bath. He knelt beside it and reached up to grip one of Jaskier’s knees which stuck up out of the water.

Jaskier didn’t respond. He continued to lounge there with his arm over his face and his knees bent and leaning against the sides of the basin. 

Geralt wondered for a fleeting moment if this was how Jaskier felt on an ordinary night when Geralt soaked weeks worth of travel from his skin. Taking a page from Jaskier’s ledger, Geralt reached into the basin and removed the piece of linen that had been abandoned and forgotten at the bottom of the basin. 

Wringing the water from it, Geralt took the hand that was resting on the edge of the basin and began to carefully clean the blood from Jaskier’s fingers. He was gentle in his scrubbing, ensuring he didn’t rub his fingers raw because he could only assume that Jaskier would grow even mopier if he couldn’t not play his lute due to discomfort.

Jaskier didn’t say anything as Geralt bathed him, and Geralt took it as an invitation to continue the task that Jaskier should have handled ages ago. When done with his hand, Geralt shuffled over, so he could reach Jaskier’s chest and face. 

“You’re going to be as shriveled as a ballsack if you stay in here much longer,” Geralt said softly as he took the arm that was over Jaskier’s face and lifted it to clean the blood away from there as well.

Jaskier’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t respond. Geralt could tell that he was still awake, and he could smell the melancholy on him, but he didn’t know how to remedy it. So, he did what he could, and that was to clean away the blood.

“You cannot spend the night in the tub, and I am not going to carry you to bed like a swooning maiden,” Geralt said, hoping more for a reaction than for Jaskier to actually rise. When none was forthcoming, Geralt brought the linen cloth to Jaskier’s neck where there was still dried blood. Gently, he washed the last remnants of the evening from Jaskier’s skin, leaving him looking healthy and glowing if it were not for the cloud of sadness hanging over him.

“You are not maudlin by nature, Jaskier. I don’t know what to do with this stranger,” Geralt told him, running his fingers through Jaskier’s soft hair. He was always surprised by how soft it was despite harsh soaps and weeks of travel.

“Leave me to drown,” Jaskier said, turning his face away from Geralt’s touch.

Geralt smiled at the dramatics. At least, that had not changed. 

“You could not drown in this bath if you tried. You are not flexible enough to wiggle your head beneath the surface with the rest of your limbs to contend with,” Geralt told him, tugging the damp ends of his hair lightly. "And I would not let you even if you were so capable."

“I mean in my sorrows, you brute,” Jaskier retorted, turning to face Geralt and opening those expressive eyes of his. They were glassy, and Geralt was struck by the depth of their color as they shimmered in the candlelight. 

“And what has brought on this sadness?” Geralt asked, using the scrap of wet linen to wash Jaskier’s chest despite the lack of blood on it. He knew how soothing it was when Jaskier cleaned him, and he hoped that his own touch was soothing.

“What is the point, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, lifting his hand out of the water like it took substantial effort, and he wrapped his fingers around Geralt’s wrist.

“The point to what?” Geralt asked, shifting the cloth to his other hand and continuing to at least clean away the sweat from Jaskier’s chest. 

“To everything. To anything. Why do you risk your life to slay monsters when men are just as vile, if not more wretched, to each other than any monster could be? At least a kikimora kills to protect its nest, a wyvern because it is hungry, and a werewolf because it is cursed. Men are wretched because it pleases them,” Jaskier lamented.

Geralt huffed as he paused what he was doing to study Jaskier. “Has a messy wedding really brought the weight of the world down on your shoulders?” Geralt asked, patting the hand with which Jaskier still gripped his wrist.

“You are making fun of me,” Jaskier said, looking away again.

“No. I just don’t understand how a silly squabble between siblings has you ready to give up on everything. It wasn’t even so bad. You were even paid despite the lack of actual nuptials taking place.”

“She was so _in love_ , and her sister knew that she would poison it. She knew it when she seduced the betrothed, and she knew it when she proclaimed it to the entirety of the gather. She knew he would be compelled to wed her instead, and for what? To take the attention away from her sister for finding a match before her? It is wretched. And now no one will be happy. All for pettiness. She will cuckold the fool for she does not truly love him. Her sister will never trust another, and he will live the life of the fool he is,” Jaskier lamented, turning in the tub to look at Geralt.

“Hmm.”

“ _Now_ you do not wish to speak? You’ve been downright chatty since you decided I needed pestering, but now when I ask for your counsel, your words are not to be found,” Jaskier threw his hands up, but Geralt caught them in his own and held them firmly.

“What answer are you seeking? Men have always been monsters, and they will continue to do monstrous things long after you and I have turned to dust. That doesn’t mean they are not also capable of goodness. You create goodness every day when you play for our supper. You lift spirits, and you’ve made life easier for witchers. You know there is a balance to this world, Jaskier. Just as not all monsters are evil, not all men are good. Those who make their path by burning the fields of others are not worth your sorrows. Nor are they worth your music at their weddings,” Geralt told him, squeezing his hands and feeling just how shriveled his skin was. “Let’s get you out of this water.”

Jaskier made yet another melancholy sound and pulled his hands from Geralt’s grip. “Warm the water again with your magic fingers. I wish to mope a little while longer.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Geralt said, ignoring the comment about his magic fingers and reaching into the water. He slipped his arms beneath Jaskier’s knees and back and lifted him out of the water and into his arms.

“Unhand me, you brute! Leave me to soak in peace,” Jaskier cried, flailing in Geralt’s arms, but Geralt held him securely.

Geralt hand taken down monsters that dwarfed him with their sheer size. The flailing of a mere human man was not going to undo Geralt. So, he turned away from the bathing basin and walked across the room toward the cot. 

“If you think this will improve my mood, you are gravely mistaken,” Jaskier said, deflating in Geralt’s arms and pressing his head to Geralt’s chest with a defeated sigh.

“If you are saving your energy to stab me when I put you down, know that I removed the dagger from your pack to clean it hours ago,” Geralt said, placing Jaskier’s dripping body down onto the cot.

“What is the point in stabbing you? It just makes you grumpier.”

If Jaskier sighed one more time, Geralt was going to throw him over his knee and force a different response out of him. However, instead, Geralt gathered a clean cloth and dried Jaskier’s damp skin as he laid on the bed like a lump.

“How much wine did you consume while the guests were attempting to murder each other?” Geralt asked. He’d seen Jaskier with a goblet beside him at the beginning of the affair, but when things had gone to shit, he hadn’t really been paying attention to Jaskier’s drinking. He was more concerned with the number of weapons that had appeared from hidden pockets and from beneath skirts.

Jaskier actually gave that a thoughtful look, which told Geralt what he needed to know. Jaskier may not have been fall-down drunk, but he was inebriated enough to be hopelessly sad.

“I believe I lost count when the groom’s brother tried to stab me. I am still uncertain as to why he wished to stab me, but I cannot say I am upset that you bludgeoned him with the hilt of your sword before I could ruin my lute in doing the job myself,” Jaskier said as Geralt rubbed the cloth over his bare thighs and down over his calves. 

“See, some good came out of today,” Geralt said, bringing the cloth up and drying Jaskier’s arms and chest. Jaskier didn’t even try to take the cloth from his hands, just lying there and watching Geralt with a soft smile despite his mood.

Jaskier looked down at the dark bruise that had formed where the knife had been thrust against his chain mail. Geralt looked there as well. He ran his fingers over the painful looking bruise before rising and walking over to Jaskier’s pack. He removed a salve and brought it to the bed.

“Don’t waste that on me,” Jaskier said, trying to push Geralt’s hand away as he went to scoop some of the salve out of the small container. 

“It is not a waste if it makes it less painful,” Geralt said, catching Jaskier’s hand and holding it hostage as he smoothed the salve over the injury. 

“And what happens when you are beaten half to death by a monster, and we are out of salve because I had a meager bruise?” Jaskier asked, flopping back down on the covers.

“If I am beaten half to death, I will likely be unconscious, so I will not be aware of the pain. Let’s get you into your smallclothes, yes? Or do you intend to lie about naked all night?”

“You are impossible, and if you had left me in the bath water, I would not require clothes at all, but you had to be contrary, and now you are offended by my nudity,” Jaskier complained, waving his arms to present his naked form. 

Geralt smiled. “I am neither offended nor requiring you to wear clothes, but you will be the one to bemoan the drafts once the wine stops warming you from the inside out.” Geralt didn’t wait for a smart retort. He simply went through Jaskier’s pack and found the garments he’d had laundered that morning. 

Taking Jaskier by the legs, he helped him into his braies with little difficulty. It wasn’t the first time that Jaskier was too drunk to dress himself. Thankfully, this time there was not an angry husband banging on the door and complicating the whole process.

“I understand you are a man used to discomfort, but how do you even walk if this is how you tuck yourself,” Jaskier grumbled, grabbing Geralt’s wrist as he settled everything in place. Jaskier guided Geralt’s hand into his smallclothes and showed him how to adjust him properly. 

Geralt grunted, and he tried not to smile though he was unsuccessful. Of course, Jaskier would expect someone to adjust him when Geralt just assumed that even if he was a drunken, melancholy fool he would set himself to rights beneath his smallclothes.

“Do not laugh at me.”

“It is hardly like your smallclothes are constricting. What does it matter where I leave your cock? Perhaps you will learn to dress yourself if you are so opposed to how I do it,” Geralt grumbled, flicking Jaskier’s hip as he pulled his hand away. 

“You begrudge a downtrodden man his meager comforts,” Jaskier moaned.

“You are impossible,” Geralt grumbled, pulling Jaskier up to sit on the bed and pulling an under tunic over his head. He guided Jaskier’s arms through the holes even as Jaskier imitated a ragdoll and flopped against him. “Come, up with you,” Geralt said, tugging at Jaskier to rise from the cot.

“What now? Can I not even convalesce in bed? Do you have some other torment for me to endure? Do you seek to remedy my lacking character through torture?” Jaskier complained even as he made himself into dead weight for Geralt to heft out of bed.

Geralt knew a third thing as well that he hadn’t really thought was pertinent at the beginning, but that he then realized was integral to the whole mess that was his traveling companion. Jaskier didn’t just love being a bard; he loved the whole production which included dancing. When he played in taverns, there was rarely opportunity for him to partake. He was quite often the only musician there, so if he stopped playing there was no dancing. Jaskier enjoyed playing in courts for a host of reasons, but not the least of which was that there were other musicians to play when he needed a break, which allowed him to find himself a dance partner. Weddings were much the same.

“Come on. Get your feet under you,” Geralt said, pulling Jaskier into his arms and stepping back into the meager floor space in their shared room.

“What are you doing, Geralt?” Jaskier asked as Geralt turned them slowly as he did a box step. It was not a courtly dance, but he figured that Jaskier would get the idea.

“Dancing.”

“This is not dancing. This is a very slow assault. You are simply trying to smother me in your embrace. You aren’t even stepping in time to anything,” Jaskier complained, finally planting his bare feet on the ground.

Geralt looked him in the eye and frowned seriously. “There’s no music to time my steps to,” he said, continuing the rhythmless motion of his feet and dragging Jaskier along with him. He knew his companion well enough to know that he would not stand for this insult to dancing. 

“Geralt, stop this. You are going about it all wrong,” Jaskier insisted, pulling back and swatting at Geralt’s hands. Then immediately, he guided Geralt’s hands to the proper position and set himself accordingly. “It is insulting that you watch me play regularly, and you still have no concept of rhythm or even how to do a simple jig.”

Jaskier stomped his foot several times before beginning to hum a familiar tune. Geralt bit his lips to hide his smile as Jaskier straightened up and began to lead them in a proper dance. Geralt was certain Jaskier would have chastised him some more, but his mouth was occupied with providing their music.

Geralt couldn’t hide his smile anymore as he looked down at their feet. What a sight they made with Jaskier in nothing but his tunic and braies, and Geralt fully dressed in his leather tunic, trousers, and boots. It was years of training that protected Jaskier’s bare feet from being crushed even when he pulled Geralt in a quick turn about their room. 

“Do not think I have forgotten my ills,” Jaskier insisted as he continued to lead them in one of his favorite dances despite no longer humming.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Geralt said, quickly stepping back before returning to Jaskier and pulling him into a tight embrace as they continued.

“It is...quicker feet, Geralt...is a tragedy that men must ruin all they touch,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt around again like they were performing for a court rather than an abandoned bath and a flickering candle.

“You haven’t ruined me,” Geralt said, taking the lead from Jaskier smoothly.

“But you have ruined me, Geralt. Opened my eyes to this unfairness, showed me the tragedy of those who are kind and good in a world set on spoiling all that is kind and good. Ruined that blind faith that men were the heroes in this tale…”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt told him, slowing their dance to little more than swaying.

“I am not, but sometimes it is all too much,” Jaskier said, resting his forehead against Geralt’s shoulder. “It’s easier when it’s just monsters and the Path, but monsters do not invite me to play for their weddings, nor do they pay in coin for an evening of dancing music.”

“Mm,” Geralt hummed, picking up their pace again and guiding Jaskier around this time. “In the morning, when you are lamenting the wine rather than the tragedy of man, we will return to the Path, and you can bemoan the lack of warm baths and rapturous crowds, and all will be well again.”

“So it will. How do you do it, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, stopping their dance and looking him in the eye. Jaskier’s eyes had lost the pane of glass now and just held earnest curiosity.

“I have you to remind me of goodness even if you are prone to giving me a headache more often than not.”

“Be serious with me, Geralt,” Jaskier insisted, squeezing Geralt’s arm.

“I am. You are my…”

“Friend?” Jaskier asked, giving him a teasing smile. 

“You are my reminder…”

“Really Ger—”

“...and my friend.” Geralt smiled at Jaskier’s shocked expression as he stumbled back dramatically. 

Jaskier fell onto the cot in a mock swoon, and placed his hand over his forehead as he lay splayed across the damp sheets. “You have slain me, Witcher. You wield your words like weapons, and I am undone.”

“I believe I mentioned that you are also a headache,” Geralt grumbled, taking a seat on the cot beside the dramatic idiot he called friend.

“Do not try to resuscitate me now, Geralt. It is too late. You have already struck the killing blow,” Jaskier continued, slapping at Geralt’s arm without any strength.

“And a fool…”

“There is nothing to be done for it, Geralt. I am ended.”

“Shut up,” Geralt grumbled, shoving Jaskier to roll over and sliding onto the cot as well. He pulled Jaskier into his arms and tugged the thin blanket over them. 

“ _Friend_ ,” Jaskier whispered as he settled against Geralt’s chest and turned his head up to smile at him drunkenly.

Geralt grumbled, leaning in and pressing his lips to Jaskier’s jaw before nosing at his cheek. “Is the world still so grim?” he asked softly.

“Undoubtedly...but perhaps all is not lost. Perhaps not all love is poisoned,” Jaskier mused, twisting enough to press his lips to Geralt’s.

“Mm.” Geralt agreed as he nipped Jaskier’s bottom lip. “Perhaps a good night’s rest will put it all in perspective.”

“I was thinking something a bit more—”

“ _Sleep,_ Jaskier,” Geralt said, nudging him again with his nose.

“As you wish, friend,” Jaskier sighed, resting his head on Geralt’s arm which he’d stretched out beneath him.

Geralt didn’t retort. He continued to hold Jaskier long after Jaskier had begun to snore. He pressed his lips to the back of Jaskier’s head and kissed him, praying that morning would bring Jaskier spirits back. Maybe he knew a fourth thing as well. Jaskier was a better man than he’d ever give himself credit for even if he often overlooked it for the sake of indulgence. And he was Geralt's.


End file.
